That king of hate, and therefore slave of feare;
Dragg’d from the fatall feild Bosworth, where hee
Lost life, and, what he liv’d for,—cruelty?
Search; find his name: but there is none. Oh kings!
Remember whence your power and vastnesse springs;
If not as Richard now, so shall you bee;
Who hath no tombe, but scorne and memorye.
And though that Woolsey from his store might save
A pallace, or a colledge for his grave,
Yet there he lyes interred as if all